Mel the Writer

@naturalambigram.bsky.social

138 Followers 198 Following

Writer of things, loves a good fact, lives in a fantasy world most of the time. Unapologetic gamer. Nambigram on Archive of Our Own. Currently in the querying trenches for a two-part coming of age vampire story.

Comedy

I was halfway along the hall when a loud crash came from my left, followed by another dead ahead. I jumped and looked around but saw nothing. It sounded like that last one came from the back of the house. I picked up the pace and reached the kitchen.
I found the problem straight away. A large oven dish had slipped off the drying rack and wedged against the cupboard. I tossed it aside and flung the door open.
A ball of orange fur latched onto my face, scratching and spitting. I struggled to rip the cat off as she moved onto my stomach to gouge open my chest. I broke free, but she bit my arm and jumped onto the work bench, hissing. Another crash from the side of the house, louder than the last.
“Come on Betty, we’ve got to go,” I said urgently and reached out, but her claws swiped at my hand.
“Ouch! Damn it, I'm trying to help you!”
Glass shattered in the room on the other side of the hall. The roaring grew louder. Heat pricked the back of my neck.
I cursed, looked around, and saw a large tea towel on the oven door. I whipped it off and threw it over the cat. Betty growled and tried to wriggle out from under it, but I wrapped my arms around the bundle and scooped her up. It was like carrying a bag of angry wasps. I fumbled with the shifting ball and turned to leave.
My groan buried under the sight.

“So, what, you’re saying it’s all my imagination?” I said.
Helena pinched her thumb and forefinger together. “Maybe a little. You do get carried away when a thought gets stuck in your head. Like that mysterious red head you claim is following you.”
“But I am being followed!”
“Oh yeah? Then where is he now?”
“He’s not doing it all the time.”
“Uhuh. Isn’t that convenient.”
“I’m serious! First the conference, now my street. And he’s not just watching. I think he’s trying to kill me.”

I picked up a tin mug from the table and examined it. Like the furniture around me, it was homemade. You could see the care and craftsmanship that had gone into this place. In a way, I admired this hermit, so content in their isolation, far away from the digital world. I couldn’t say how many hours I’d spent online in total, slouched in front of my monitor, talking to Dan and the rest while we worked on the latest patch together.
That reminded me... I was supposed to be helping Sam with a project this week. She’d be so angry that I’d no-showed. I brushed the thought aside. She’d get over it; I’d bailed enough times over the years and someone else could fill my place. I couldn’t take any more guilt. Not after I had—
I gripped the cup tighter. No. I wouldn’t think about that.

Magic the Gathering card of a Black Knight. The quote underneath the card ability reads: “Battle doesn’t need a purpose; the battle is its own purpose. You don’t ask why a plague spreads or a field burns. Don’t ask why I fight.”

I squinted and shielded my eyes. The truck swerved and rammed into the side of the car.
The world lurched. Wheels screeched sideways. I slammed both feet on the brakes, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. When I saw the barrier, it was too late.
The car crashed through the metal, wheels jolting as they lifted over the edge of the cliff, and for one surreal moment I became weightless in time. A camera flickered behind my vision, capturing the scene in excruciating detail. The craggy headlands folding into the distance, the twinkle of the constellations, the rippling horizon. The view shifted to the dark undulating peaks below and time rushed up to meet me.
Hair whipped across my face as the wind whistled through the open window. The sound of waves buzzed louder and angrier. Then came the crushing impact.

I shivered and became aware of the bone-wrenching cold. I wished for warmth. I wished I was back at graduation, sitting with Annie under the shade of a tree, bickering about unimportant things, or snuggled under a blanket in her apartment. She used to slap my hand when I attempted to steal her popcorn during a film marathon. Her grin outshone the sun whenever she won an argument.

I shifted in my seat and nudged the mouse, awakening the monitor where the incriminating code blazed on screen. I switched it off and snapped my attention back to the man in my room. The man who had somehow found me.
And he was blocking the exit.
If I could make it to the hall I could climb down the fire escape, but I’d have to get past him first and he was way stronger than me, that was for sure. The window was a no-go. There was no way I was jumping out of a fifth-floor window. I got dizzy thinking about it. Or maybe that was from the blood draining from my head. My friend Helena made fun of my fair complexion, but I must be white as a sheet. Or green. Green was more likely. I certainly felt like throwing up. How the hell had he found me?
The man watched in muted interest as a host of emotions flitted across my face.
“I see you understand the situation,” he said.

Paragraph extract: Orson was a small city by modern standards, but it was huge to a country kid like me. You’d have thought its many gridlocked streets would make it lifeless, but it retained a charm and character that I found reassuring. It was a city of contrasts. In the business district, skyscrapers interspersed with architecture from another era, with wide streets and coloured storefronts that made up for the frequent dreary weather. Barber shops stood proudly beside glossy office blocks. Rather than clashing, Orson welcomed the variety with open arms. Closer to the sea, the streets abandoned the modern touches. Salt-stained wooden buildings stretched from a promenade to the pier front where small fishing vessels moored, relics of a booming trade now long past their expiration date.